I Never Told You What I Did For A Living
by Impossible for you all
Summary: Frankie lives on the streets, alone and shunned by family and friends. Gerard is a new teacher, who doesn't understand why the emotions of others really matter. What happens when they collide? Eventual Frerard Slash. Teacher/Pupil
1. Prologue

Another night, another client. Another monster who would throw me against the wall, then laugh as I lay crumpled on the floor, broken and struggling to breathe. But money was money, who am I to object? I have a strong reputation around here. Ill take anything you give me, without a word.

The man grabbed me and pinned me against the wall once more, holding my body a foot above the floor. He was right up in my face now. Had he always been that red or had my concussion really started to do some damage?

"Listen slut, I'm gonna take you hard and fast before my wife comes home, and if you wanna see any money you better keep absolutely silent and let me do what I want. You got that?" The mans crooked teeth meant that he spat his 's' slightly. It was all I could do to not gag as a large globule if saliva landed on my cheek. He growled as I stayed silent, shaking me slightly as he tightened his grip round my neck.  
"Answer me you whore!"

I nodded my head with difficulty, still retaining my silence. He roared with anger, turned me around and slammed me against the harsh wood panelling, my nose breaking as my face connected with the solid surface. Blood spurted everywhere, temporarily blinding me as my  
employer for the night unzipped his flies, shoving his hard length roughly into my unprepped entrance.

The pain was intense. I shut my eyes and put up my barriers again. I was safe and nothing would hurt me. When I had my barriers up, my angel was there. He was the one behind me instead of the nameless man, kissing my neck and caressing my hips as he slowly pushed into my tender body. He would whisper sweet nothings into my ear as he moved lovingly within me. He would gasp as he felt how tight I was. How hot for him I was. I would moan as he brushed past my sweet spot. I imagined it was him who was forcing into me. That it was him who was ripping me into two, not the monster behind me.

But it wasn't him. It wasn't my saviour. The man, whose name I couldn't even remember at this point, started moving faster and more violently. Blood slowly trickled down my thighs, only to be absorbed by my black skinny jeans. He grabbed my hips tighter, pulling me against him roughly as he released into me with a low moan. He pulled out of me; put himself back inside his trousers before quickly re buttoning himself. I slowly slid down the wall, until I was slumped on the floor. I wouldn't cry. I could never cry.

"See you next week whore" the man sneered, before throwing some dollar bills down on the bed and leaving the room, slamming the door behind him. I groaned as I tried to pull myself to my feet, pain ripping through my body, every cell screaming as they set on fire. I had to clean myself up and get moving. I half hobbled, half dragged myself to the bathroom.

Gingerly, I peeled of my jeans and t-shirt before stepping into the shower. I turned the water to the hottest setting, in a desperate hope that the scalding water would penetrate some of the ice surrounding my numb soul. It didn't. I should know by now that it never does. I lost myself in my mind as the steam swirled around my head creating a dusty haze. My head stayed downcast, watching as the blood and dirt from my body stained the water a muddy pink as it swirled down the plug. How I wished I could clean my insides that easily, I thought wistfully. But I never could. Not anymore. I was tainted, and deserved every ounce of pain that I was given. the problem was, I may deserve it, but how much more could I take?

Sighing, I turned off the shower, before stepping out onto the frigidly cold tiles of the bathroom floor. I quickly toweled myself dry, before shoving my clothes back on and applying a thin layer of eyeliner. I had to be ready, after all, there was still at least 4 hours of work to be done if I was lucky.

Another night, another client.

* * *

Not sure of this, do I carry on? Comments would be appreciated :)


	2. Chapter 1

Have you ever wondered what your life would be like if you had been born to different parents? I have. I do every day. Maybe if I had been, then my circumstances would be different. Maybe if I had, I wouldn't be sitting by myself in a dark corner of my tiny hovel of an apartment. Maybe, just maybe, I'd still live in a house with parents who loved their offspring unconditionally, who accepted me for who I was. Maybe I'd get lucky, but of all the things I am, lucky is not one of them. Tainted, twisted and scarred, yes, but lucky? Lucky doesn't even get a look in on the situation.

I know that as a career choice, mine is slightly odd for a 16 year old, and it's not exactly one that I would have chosen for myself, but then again, how many would? I'd like to visit a school where upon being asked what they'd like to be in the future, a five year old replies with glee in their voice; "I want to be a whore!" because that's what I am. And by the looks of where my life is heading, it's all I'll ever be.

I sigh as I look at the dismal room before me. The few clothes I own are dirty and strewn haphazardly across the small space, while all flat surfaces are covered with comics and the small number of possessions that held enough sentimental value for me to see reason to bring them when I was chucked out by the homophobic monster otherwise known as my father. The sun was just starting to rise to cast some light onto yet another monotonous day in New Jersey. The first few beams shone optimistically through the polluted smog that had taken up residence on the suburban streets, a harsh contrast to my current mood, which was only reflected by the institutional concrete grey of my apartment block. It glinted cautiously through the rotting blinds of my room and I didn't blame it for being cautious. No one in their right minds would enter here by choice. Except me that is, and the people who employ me. But that just back ups my statement; no one in their _right_ mind.

I watched the clock on the opposite wall slowly tick round to six o'clock. Time to 'get up', but I guess I'll take that in the literal sense, seeing as I've been awake for the past 57 hours. I stood slowly, wincing as several loud cracks resonated from my joints. Meh, I'd complain too if you told me to move after being stuck in the same place for the last 6 or so hours. I limp towards the bed, and pick off it my jeans, before methodically sniffing each of the shirts on my floor in turn, trying to decide which smelt the least offensive. Eventually settling on a Green Day tee, I hobbled as fast as my embarrassingly short legs would carry me towards the bathroom. Hey, you try being five foot two at the age of sixteen, with no growth spurt in sight. With the size I am, you'd think the testosterone driven jocks at school would use the few brain cells they had to come up with some creative new way to heighten my public humiliation, but no, it was the standard lock-him-in-a-locker job for me. I flick the switch on, blinking at the sudden dazzle of the standard bulb reflecting off the gleaming white tiles. I refuse to let this room become unsanitary. Ever. Call it OCD if you must, but personally, I'd rather not have microbes exposed to my toothbrush, thank you very much.

I twist the knob of the shower and turn to study my reflection in the chipped and cracking mirror while the prehistoric boiler decides if I deserve hot water or not today. I glower at the pale boy while he just smirks mockingly back at me. See? Even my own reflection is out to get me. I grip the sides of the sink and feel my body slump with a sigh of pure exasperation before raising my head and forcing myself to actually look this time. My skin was waxy and had taken on an unhealthy yellow hue. My cheek bones jutted out at un-natural angles, as if there wasn't enough flesh to hold them where they should normally reside. I think if I walked through an airport right now, they'd rather check the bags under my eyes rather than the ones in my hands. The steam from the shower crept over the curtain rail and came to rest as condensation on the cool glass, clouding over the image of the gaunt boy and telling me it was time to move again. I quickly slid off my boxers and tossed them into the hamper before stepping into the scalding spray.

I showered quickly, making sure that my hair was completely clean and that there was no dirt under my nails. I _hate _it when that happens. Yes, I know, I really am starting to create the image of a stereotypical gay here. Would now be the wrong time to tell you that I wear make up as well? Not much, in my defence. Just enough foundation to cover the cuts and bruises and some eyeliner to….well that's just to look good but who wouldn't want to look good? It's a normal part of high school, the whole trying to fit in thing. And besides, wearing make up goes hand in hand with my profession, so I may as well in corporate it into my every day life. That way I can at least kid myself that I'm not a complete fake. Just mostly.

The water had started to cool as I shut it off and stepped back into the frigid air of the bath room and promptly….slipped over. Oh fucking joy, what a good start to the day. Cursing under my breath, I stood and untangled myself from the shower curtain which I had grabbed in a vain attempt to keep my balance, only to pull down with me. To be honest, I don't care right now. I'll just but one at Wal-Mart on the way home or something. I grabbed the teenage mutant ninja turtle towel from the rack and roughly towelled myself dry before wrestling myself into some sinfully tight jeans. You know the ones I'm talking about, the ones that force you to go commando simply because you physically cant fit underwear in there as well as your reproductive organs. I glanced at my chest briefly, studying the numerous tattoos that adorned it before covering them with the black shirt id picked out for the day. My hair would need to be blow dried, I decide, as I have to be walking out the door in ten minutes unless I want a detention, which really is the last thing I want.

Detentions cut horrendously into the time I had to work, and no work meant no money, which meant no rent or food and well, you get the picture. I grab my foundation and slap it on; making doubly sure it covered all marks. I only had a couple of new bruises from last night, and most of the others had almost healed, but they were still too noticeable and positioned too oddly to be passed off as battle wounds. And to be honest, with my height, everyone knows id come off a lot worse than just bruises if I was up against any one other than a 3 year old girl and even then, they can be fucking scary when they want to be! I'm not a wimp, I swear, but there is something freaky about that grin they have… next came the eyeliner, and just because I'm a masochist, I put on the red eye shadow that I know will catch their eyes. As they say, if I'm already going to hell…Back in my room, I grab the first socks I see not caring if they're worn or not, then cover them with by battered old converses as I turn on my straighteners to heat us while praying that my hair dryer doesn't give up the ghost today of all days. Hallelujah it's alive! Slightly smoking and making weird noises, but alive none the less! Three point seven minutes later, I'm out the door with my ancient Misfits bag on my back and my head bopping to the glorious tunes of black flag to sing me to the hell-hole they call school. The sun was indeed shining, and as I rounded the corner to Belleville high, I temporarily lost both my sight and hearing. Blinking several time to try and revive my corneas, I realised that some jackass on a Harley had driven past on the pavement, the glare of the shining engine causing my loss of sight, while the thunderous roar was to blame for the deafness.

"Douche bag!" I screamed after the guy, knowing full well that they wouldn't be able to hear me. At least, I think they were a dude, if the tufts of scarlet hair peaking out from the bottom of the rider's helmet were anything to go by. I looked around and realised that I'd gained a disapproving look from the old lady on a granny mobile crossing the street. Meh, it got some of my anger out at lease. Do you ever get the feeling that all High schools are, and always will be, and always have been the same? I think there must have been the same cliques, the same sluts, and the same dicks here when my grandparents were teens; the only difference is that the skirts have gotten shorter, and the steroid in take has gotten higher. I was glad to get out of the unseasonable heat, and into the cool shade of the tacky 50's built halls. Upon a snap decision, I went straight to my first class, wishing to leave the humiliation of being locked in a locker until later in the day. I entered maths and sat in my usual seat. In the back, in the corner, with my hood up so no one can see me and my ipod blaring. Perfect. There was the usual scuffle for seats as the bell rang then the noise level continued to rise as students discussed who had fucked who the past weekend. The door opened and slammed again I didn't look up. I was so lost in picking the fraying thread of my shirt that I didn't even look up when register was called. Or when the lesson had begun. In fact, I think I managed to day dream for a full twenty minutes until…

"Hey! Little emo pansy at the back? Look the fuck up and pay attention, cause I'm only gonna teach this shit once alright?"

Well, I couldn't really miss that one now could I. I glanced up, and was met by a cold glare from the most beautiful pair of eyes I'd ever seen. The mans mouth was twisted into a smirk as he flicked back his scarlet hair out of his hazel orbs. Wait, red hair? Oh you've got to be fucking kidding me…


End file.
